


Personal Notes (17) Time is not real, but...

by longhairshortfuse



Series: Carlos's Secret Diary [17]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longhairshortfuse/pseuds/longhairshortfuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos figures out what is going on in the underground city and, at last, asks Cecil to meet him. One year later...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Notes (17) Time is not real, but...

Today has been difficult. As a scientist I was taught to rely on evidence and report only truth, whatever the consequences. I never expect the consequences to be injury or danger of death. I should, I mean, two years ago... but that's another story and I'm not quite ready to tell it. 

The team has been here for a year. Some postgrads left having collected enough data for full theses, and others joined to take their place. Some are half a memory. But I am still here. A few months ago I planned to stay until a year had passed since I arrived then see if the scientific community had forgotten about me, and look for another, less unusual, job. I think today might have offered me a both a reason to run and a reason to remain.

Several days ago, I took some repeat readings of energy usage by the city under the pin retrieval area of lane five of the bowling alley. The amount of energy they were expending was minuscule so I reasoned that the subterranean city must be much smaller than everybody first thought. I snuck in to the pin retrieval area overnight after buying the militia a few crates of beer, enough to render them insensible or at least unobservant, and slipped into the hole with my wattmeter, some rope and a good head-torch. I was right - instead of a huge city miles underground I explored a tiny city just a few feet away. The tallest skyscrapers only reached to my knees. I left as soon as I had enough power readings from the wattmeter and a few photographs on my phone with a measuring tape in the frame for scale, to make my case for leaving them alone as they were sure to be harmless. I think the dim beam sweeping around from my head-torch upset the tiny inhabitants. They threw rocks at me but were not strong enough to do any damage.

Today, Teddy, local doctor, owner of the bowling alley and ringleader of the militia, was on the point of ordering an assault on the miniature city. I rushed over there as soon as I heard about it on Cecil's show. I was in so much of a hurry that I forgot all my notes and measurements, I stormed in and I may have been quite rude. I called at least one person deranged. But the militia forgot about all that when they saw the scale of the city that terrified them so much. 

It didn't go well. Between my overnight visit to the miniature city and today, the tiny inhabitants had been busy. They must have incredible organisational powers as in a few hours they had armed themselves better and turned themselves into an army. They had built a trebuchet to fling burning projectiles as high as my waist, cannons that fired cannonballs formed by melting down one of their more modest high-rise structures and they had discovered or invented some kind of explosive that they wedged into the gap between my shoes and the ground, literally blowing me off my feet.

I only heard later about what happened next. I fell, unconscious and bleeding from a wound in my side. But before the miniature murderers could hurt me more seriously, the apache tracker picked me up and carried me to safety. During the rescue he was fatally wounded by a small but deadly cannonball meant for me, and died before I woke. 

This brush with mortality made me look at life as a more precious thing, to be filled with experiences. Every day I am the oldest I have ever been and should celebrate that in some way. How much life have I squandered, doing nothing? Avoiding things? Worrying about what others, one beautiful other in particular, think of me? All I could think about were the times I had been too nervous or too fearful, lost opportunities to live life to its glorious capacity. I do not want to look back as an old man and say: I could have, but I was afraid.

So I sent Cecil a text to ask him if he would meet me. I wrote it and deleted it and wrote it again before I shut my eyes, breathed deeply and hit "send". I was at the Arby's car park, it has a good view of the sky and I think that, like me, he likes to watch the sunset and the lights. I was there in my bloodstained flannel shirt and dusty jeans. I have no idea what my hair, the hair that he talked about so much at first, looked like. I was unable to find the smile Ell said I should use more often. I got out of my car and sat on the trunk, watching the sun, mesmerised.

Cecil arrived and parked next to my car. He got out, asked what scientific emergency needed his help. My heart beat wildly and my head tingled as I answered: nothing. I just wanted to see him. His voice wavered and almost failed him. I wondered if his stomach fizzed and fluttered tonight whilst mine was calm. I had sudden and unusual inspiration about what to say and I wish I could remember all of it. Does he know I was talking about him, when I said that things that once seemed malevolent could be pure and innocent? Cecil perched beside me on the trunk of my car, so close that I sensed his warmth but no pressure. We sat watching the lights, not daring to move, for what could have been seconds or days. I risked contact, rested one hand on his knee and in return he leaned his head against my shoulder. I wanted him to put his arms around me, tell me everything would be okay, and yet dreaded that he might. I could barely contain my emotions and feared that at any moment I might be overcome by the day's events and break down into a fit of shaking and sobbing. I did not want to show him weakness. I know so much, and so little, about any of this.

When, eventually, we went to our separate homes in our separate cars, Cecil tailed me to make sure I was okay then drove away, looking concerned. I listened to the rest of his radio show. I am getting used to the ways that time loops and spirals here. I listened as he narrated the rest of the events of this evening with his honey voice. I regret that I have been hesitant about accepting Cecil and even though time is not real, I have wasted so much of it.


End file.
